


Love is for Children

by opalescentgold



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Queerplatonic Relationships, SPECTRE Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11600133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalescentgold/pseuds/opalescentgold
Summary: Q isn't in love with Bond.Bond isn't in love with Q.But they make it work anyway.





	Love is for Children

**Author's Note:**

> _For Aro/Ace Day. ___

Q isn’t in love with Bond.

He doesn’t know why everyone thinks that he is. Or rather, he _knows_ why everyone thinks that he is - that would be the amatonormativity talking - but the assumption is annoying anyway.

Bond certainly isn’t in love with Q. Bond is in love with a dead woman, with the heat of a building on fire, with the job and the adrenaline and probably the death, but Bond isn’t in love with Q.

What they have is...more of an agreement, really.

Q talks with Bond over the comms because he has the time, and he can multitask, and because otherwise Bond would get bored and light something on fire, and he doesn’t want to deal with the paperwork.

Bond brings Q back souvenirs because he can, and because he was bored, and because it irritates Q to have so many useless baubles on his desk. He would throw them all in the trash, but then his employees would revolt, because there’s some sort of bet going on.

They banter because it’s fun and amusing and largely meaningless.

Sometimes, Bond goes to Q’s after a mission, when the adrenaline high is over and he’s ready for some peace and safety, and they watch a show in-between bites of pizza or takeaway. Bond occasionally has the energy to cook but not often.

They have a routine set up now. Q generally does the vacuuming and the dusting, but if he’s here, Bond is willing to do the dishes and the laundry; he insists that Q doesn’t do it correctly. Q doesn’t even bother trying to argue.

Every so often, they cuddle shamelessly. The skin to skin contact is relaxing, as is the warmth and weight of another human body. Cats are lovely, but having his hair petted is another layer of pleasure altogether.

They don’t hold hands. They don’t kiss. They definitely don’t have sex, thank God.

Bond stopped propositioning Q a month in, when he finally tuned in enough to see that it made Q uncomfortable. He continues to sleep with women and men on missions, but he doesn’t take his innuendos and lust to Q’s flat, and that’s enough for Q.

The day Bond tries to take Q to an expensive restaurant with a bouquet of red roses, Q vows to himself with a shudder, is the day that Q revokes his access to his precious Aston Martin.

For Q, who, if he’s in love with anything at all, is in love with his tech and his inventions and his tea, it’s a burden off of his shoulders. He doesn’t like sex, nor does he like heavy expectations of love, but he does enjoy the intimacy of snuggling together on the sofa and he’s always hated being lonely.

Moneypenny doesn’t quite understand when he tells her. “Aren’t you lonely regardless?” she asks. “Aren’t you jealous? Envious?”

“No,” Q says easily, taking bites out of his sandwich, “I have James.”

“He sleeps with other people,” she points out. “I mean, I guess if you two have an open relationship…”

“I wouldn’t say it like that. I don’t sleep with other people, nor do I have the relationship I have with James with other people. It’s all just part of the job. And,” Q says, “it’s not like I want what they have. I’m the one he comes back to in the end.”

Moneypenny shakes her head. “Well,” she says dubiously, “if you’re both happy.”

Q thinks that they are. He’s never talked to Bond about it, but he suspects that Bond is relieved that he doesn’t have to bring his work home with him, doesn’t have to make any effort to woo Q with chocolates and charm. Bond has far too much romance and sex in the field to feel the lack of it with Q, although he’s not aromantic or asexual as Q is.

They’re happy. They’re comfortable. Q sees no need for any of it to change, no matter how much his employees snicker behind their computer screens when Bond drops in after a mission. He’s satisfied with knowing that Bond trusts him above everyone else, and it’s Q who Bond whispers his secrets to after a rough night.

If Q could spend the rest of his life like this with Bond, then he’d have no objections.

Eighteen months after Skyfall and eleven months after their relationship started to solidify, Bond says one cool morning, “Q, I need to show you something.”

Q looks up from his laptop although he doesn’t set down his cup of tea. “I’m listening.” Bond’s been acting suspicious lately, and Q hates being left out of the loop.

In hindsight, not telling him to put down his tea was probably Bond’s revenge for making him wipe down the kitchen counters last night. Q ends up choking on it when he sees the late M show up on their television screen.

Bond smirks like the bastard he is and pauses the video helpfully. “Careful there, Q.”

“You _wanker_ ,” Q gasps out after coughing for about three minutes. “Turn that back on; I want to know what’s got you so shifty-eyed lately.”

“I’m a spy, I don’t _get_ shifty-eyed,” Bond protests but does as he’s told.

Q watches somberly as the whole message plays out and then sighs and rubs his eyes. It’s too damned early for this, but now that he knows, he can’t just leave it be. “I’m guessing you’ve already got some leads,” he says, already resigned to his fate.

Bond’s face visibly brightens. “I do.”

Q throws a stroppy glower at him and taps his laptop awake. And to think his actual work day hasn’t even started.

They don’t get very far that morning, but that’s fine. After that, Bond keeps Q updated on his progress, and Q manages to get some important snippets of information to him despite the chaos of the merger and his attempts to get away from the avaricious eyes of C, his new boss.

Which is really only technical, because although Q hides it far better than Bond does, he has the slightest authority issue too, and he only ever obeyed the late M because she had his respect. The current M’s goals parallel his own, which is permissible enough. C, not so much.

It’s part of why Q gets along with Bond so well.

Their secret mission from the late M is trotting along fine, all up until Bond ends up blowing up a block in Mexico City. “M wants to track you,” Q announces the second Bond walks through the door. He doesn't look up from his phone.

“Then let him,” Bond replies, wandering over to the refrigerator.

Q leans his head against the back of the sofa to eye him suspiciously. “What about the funeral?”

Bond walks out with a yoghurt. “Cover for me.” 

Of course. “I hate you,” Q groans when he realises what that is supposed to mean. His poor, poor career is never going to get a break.

“I hate you, too, Q,” Bond says and rummages around for a spoon.

Somehow, Q ends up in Austria, which is what he opens the conversation with when Bond shows up at his hotel room. “You bloody pillock,” he hisses as soon as he gets the door open. “You know I hate the cold!”

“I’ll buy you that tea you like so much from Hong Kong,” Bond placates. “Q, Madeleine. Madeleine, Q.”

“Enchanted,” Q says cursorily to the beautiful blonde who follows Bond in before resuming his rant at Bond. “You can’t just bribe this all away, Bond! This place is freezing, I have just had the most unpleasant encounter in the ski lift, and their tea is disgusting!”

Bond promptly turns on his heel with a worried frown and scans Q critically. “An encounter in the ski lift? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Not the point,” Q says at once. “Didn’t you hear what I said about the tea?”

A week later, Q lounges happily on his bed, nursing his right arm, which got hit with glass shards during that awful car chase. He doesn’t know how Bond does it. Speaking of the devil, he hears the front door open right that second. Good. He’s late.

“Q?”

“In the bedroom,” Q calls back. Moments later, Bond appears in the doorway. He looks flushed. Q squints at him. “Please don’t tell me you had sex in my car.” That’s not an image he particularly needs.

Bond doesn’t hesitate. “Of course not.”

Q groans into his pillow. “You’re cleaning the seats. And replenish my tea. I want the good Hong Kong tea, mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Castillon02](https://archiveofourown.org/users/castillon02) for the quick beta!
> 
> My tumblr is [here](https://opalescentgold.tumblr.com/).


End file.
